


a kiss for luck

by v3ilfire



Series: i fought the war, but the war won [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, i haven't written in months and this is all i have to deliver, it's pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: “I assume you have an opinion on my chances?” he asked before his mind could start putting itself through its usual paces.“You’re probably going to lose.”“That’s unusually grim of you.”“Isabela’s cheating is especially cruel tonight,” she explained. “Unfortunately for you, all I have to offer is a kiss for luck.”Fenris said, “I’ll take what I can get,” before his head could catch up with his mouth.





	a kiss for luck

**Author's Note:**

> me, shedding my fur coat on stage: grandmama, it is me. the garbage man.

There was nothing more surprising to Fenris than the fact that his life had somehow evolved into something beyond just a raw need to _survive_. Four years in Kirkwall without any major upsets made it calmer, even pleasant if he squinted and downright excellent if he was drunk enough, which he was. Drunk and in high spirits despite having lost his last silver to Merrill. He was about to lose his last _copper_ to Isabela, considering he was just inebriated enough to have bet that she couldn’t get both of them free drinks from the “poet” who, if lacking any literary skill whatsoever, made up for it in sheer determination and an almost pitiable desire to throw his coin around to impress her.

The Hanged Man was too loud to hear the door open, but the unmistakable holler of the patrons near the entrance could only mean that Hesta and Varric made their ceremonious return from whatever trouble they decided to stir. Fenris watched them swim easily through the crowd to the table where Merrill and Aveline were keeping a _very_ uncomfortable Sebastian company, and set something on the table. Something Aveline seemed to disapprove of, despite (or maybe because of) Varric’s enthusiastic gesturing.

Isabela took both Fenris’s coin and the seat next to him in one fluid motion. Just as she offered him the nearly overflowing mug of ale, on the opposite side of the room Hawke raised her head away from Varric’s conspiratorial huddle, and began to scan the room.

“Your copper back says she’s not looking for _me_ like that,” Isabela said, her grin a harbor for some hidden meaning he decidedly ignored. Fenris didn’t get the chance to stubbornly redeem himself from bankruptcy, because Hesta’s eyes soon locked onto him and her involuntary smile forced his mouth to mirror it. She waved both of them over, but not before Isabela had her chance at a smug _I-told-you-so_.

“Oh you’ll like this one, Rivaini,” Varric said as soon as they were within earshot. Fenris felt his eyes widen involuntarily when they flashed a bottle with writing he immediately recognized as Qunlat.  
“How did you get that?” he asked. Aveline braced herself for the explanation.  
“Varric talked one of the compound guards into a ‘contest of strength,’” Hesta answered, which Varric translated to mean that she _arm-wrestled a Qunari for it_. It was a story about as likely as any of the other bizarre things that seemed to only happen to her.  
“That will kill you,” Fenris said matter-of-factly, but the bottle was already uncorked. Hesta snorted.  
“If only I had a copper for every time I heard that.”

It took three of them to convince her to only have _one_ drink of the Qunari concoction until she actually tasted the swill, which left her coughing and her throat burning so viciously she nearly convinced herself she was finally turning into a dragon. Once the burn subsided the drink hit her _fast_ , and it was more than enough to send her right past giddy and into losing an almost laughable amount of money over their usual game of Wicked Grace. Aveline cut her off before Isabela could convince her to go double or nothing on the whole affair, leaving Hesta slouched over the table just left of Fenris with her chin in her palm and lazily tracing the grain of the table.

“I could have _won,_ you know,” she said pouting. _Almost_ slurring.  
“Hawke.”  
Aveline’s reprimand was met with a slow blink and a lazy grin. “As they say, eighth hand’s the charm.”  
The Guard-Captain’s gaze methodically slid just past her countryman, and she tried again. “Fenris.”  
“ _Hawke,_ ” he echoed, sterner, still unsure how he felt about it being common knowledge that something in his tone held some sort of weird power over her. It did work though, because when she turned to face him she immediately slumped against his arm and began examining his cards with the kind of narrow-eyed intensity she usually only devoted to un-seeing the lewd drawing accidentally hidden in her mother’s family crest.

Just as Merrill began to ask around if _eighth hand’s the charm_ was a Kirkwall saying, Fenris found himself wondering when exactly the sting of lyrium became simply an unpleasant side-effect of an otherwise welcome interaction instead of a constant reminder of vile crimes committed against him.

“I assume you have an opinion on my chances?” he asked before his mind could start putting itself through its usual paces.  
“You’re probably going to lose.”  
“That’s unusually grim of you.”  
“Isabela’s cheating is especially cruel tonight,” she explained. “Unfortunately for you, all I have to offer is a kiss for luck.”

Fenris said, “I’ll take what I can get,” before his head could catch up with his mouth. Their eyes met and there was a moment of quiet surprise and the kind of hesitation that wasn’t usually present when they were busy sneaking around behind the tavern, too drunk to reckon with whatever attraction kept bringing them out there and then turned them into blushing children in the light of day. Perhaps for the best; she was already a little flushed from drink and his ears and neck were feeling warm _before_ he ever opened his mouth, but now everything seemed… amplified.

For a moment it seemed like his comment spooked her, but just as he was about to apologize Hesta peeled herself from his arm and pulled herself up for a kiss that was only _just_ long enough for him to notice that the usual clamoring at their table turned swiftly to dead silence. She pulled away and stood up in the same motion, leaving him only with the vague afterburn of Qunari liquor and a whispered _good luck_ to prove that he hadn’t imagined the whole exchange.

“Another round on me, then?” she said as she turned and made a beeline for Corff at the bar. With the chair now vacant, Fenris found himself with no barrier between himself and Aveline’s amused stare.  
“Well then,” was all she had to say as she pulled a silver piece from her purse and began a convoluted exchange of money that largely benefitted Merrill and Isabela, but seemed to leave nobody surprised.

The game went on from there, nothing about it particularly different aside from some coy glances and suggestive eyebrow-wiggling from Isabela whenever they made eye contact. As predicted, Fenris lost quickly to Isabela’s four serpents (for the _second_ time that game, which no one seemed to catch), but it didn’t seem to matter.

He was feeling pretty lucky anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for months and it's all i have to offer you


End file.
